Clint Smith

Mom’s eyes close.
She raises the spatula
as if she were going to orchestrate
the gumbo into existence.
Turns the knob so that we feel
the bass thundering in the walls.

At the start of verse one,
she points to Pops,
walks over, shoulders
oscillating back-and-forth
between the melody.
Pops does the same dance
he’s been doing since ’73—
left knee, right knee, pop, snap
left knee, right knee, pop, snap.

At the start of verse two,
Pops drops his shoulder,
bites his bottom lip,
& does some sort of spin move
pivoting on his left foot.
When he does this it’s unclear
if he’s hurt his back
or if he’s doing an unauthorized
version of the sprinkler.
The way his hands flip & turn
& slap box the sky between them.
The way Mom looks confused
as to what exactly is happening
but she goes with it, ‘cuz she’s fly
like that, & has never left Pops
hanging on the dance floor.

At the start of verse three,
smoke alarms are going off
in the kitchen.
Their hands are clasped
now, fingers interlocked,
swinging each other back & forth.
Their feet are now music
of their own.

At the end of the song,
Frankie’s voice begins to fade
but they keep dancing. She holds
her hand on the back of his neck,
he pulls her in closer, she looks
at him, kisses him between the sweat
rolling down his forehead.
Then they laugh
& laugh & laugh & laugh
long after the song has stopped.